Watcher, Watch Her
by ABC Girl
Summary: [CSI Miami] Missing Scene from The Best Defense.


Title: Watcher, Watch Her (1/1)  
  
Author: Andrea (abc3969@juno.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Pairing: While I might explore the potential of other duos on occasion, my heart will always return to Horatio/Calleigh; and so, to my own muse I must be true.  
  
Disclaimer: Me no profit; you no sue.  
  
Archive: Is anybody archiving these? If so, just say so. I'll come visit. Eve and Laeta, please be my guests.  
  
Spoilers: "The Best Defense"  
  
Summary: Semi-missing scene fic for "The Best Defense," this is more or less a little piece of Horatio introspection.  
  
No other Betas were approached during the writing of this piece. All errors are mine alone. If you shoot me for an actual Beta, you will have shot an innocent woman.  
  
~~~~~  
  
My Calleigh is a realist. She sees most things as they truly are. That is, all except John Hagen. Somewhere along the line, he fitted her with a pair of rose-colored glasses specially designed by his own hand. And for a while, she wore them quite comfortably. She honestly looked happy, content even. So I did as I always do.  
  
Silently, unobtrusively, I watch them. Her with him. The two of them blurring the lines between the professional and the personal. Her interacting with him the way I wish she would with me. And every time I see them, it takes only a second or two for me to superimpose my face on his, imagining she's talking to me and not him.  
  
It twists my heart like a well-loved rag doll to see them together, and I'm man enough to admit to more than my fair share of jealousy at the sight. But, like all the other emotions in my repertoire, I've learned to mask it and channel it into something else.in this case, an intense, even feral, protectiveness for my amazing "Bullet Girl."  
  
I usually keep a socially proper and respectful distance when I observe them, far enough to remain undetected and near enough to maintain the mystical connection, the bond that I'm positive Calleigh and I both recognize, but have simply refused to acknowledge out loud for fear of the possibilities, both good and bad.  
  
During the workday, I try my best to stay physically close to her, but even if that's not possible, we have an emotional, sensory link that that transcends distance. I've come to rely upon that link, on her. In the few short years she has been in my life, Calleigh has become indispensable to me. She is the tether that keeps me grounded to reality. Without her influence on my psyche, it's entirely possible that I would be an emotional train wreck, a loose canon, sanctioned by the City to carry a weapon.  
  
I don't intrude on her time with Hagen. It's not my place or my style- unless that clueless bastard does something stupid and heartless, like the other day in Calleigh's lab. I had no choice then.  
  
Her father had tried to pull himself up by the bootstraps and get back to work and Hagen made the bone-headed move of conveniently ignoring evidence, demeaning Mr. Duquesne in the process. He earned no points with Calleigh there.  
  
Without a doubt, I knew Calleigh could manage the situation, as she always does in cases such as this. I've seen that Southern steel cloaked in deceptively guileless charm take down many an unsuspecting fool who was daring enough to challenge her. But that day, Hagen went way too far; he crossed a very definite line, for Calleigh and for me. I don't think she realized it, but I heard the whole exchange. What an ass that guy is.  
  
When I walked in on Hagen grilling Calleigh over the whole mess, it became increasingly obvious that her rosy glasses were off now, and that Hagen wasn't looking quite so appealing anymore. Thank God for small favors.  
  
In my gut, I know Hagen's either a cop gone bad or is dangerously close to it. My main missions in life until now have been to help solve crimes on behalf of the victims and to get to the bottom of Raymond's death. Now I can add a third task-to expose Hagen for who and what he is, not only to Internal Affairs, but to Calleigh as well. Whatever she sees in him will disappear like early morning fog in the first rays of sunshine once I can get her to look at him through my eyes. Granted, I'm not exactly objective where Calleigh is concerned, but that's beside the point. No matter what, he's still not good enough for her.  
  
I've seen how he looks at her. He leers at her as though she's a piece of cheesecake to be devoured after a steak dinner. She's a conquest, a means to and end, one more wrung to step over on his way up the ladder to the top of MDPD. He'll never make it--not if I have anything to say about it. I'm not vindictive by any means, but I will not stand idly by and do nothing while he runs roughshod over her career. And Heaven help the man if he toys with her emotions any more than he already has. He may run, but he won't be able to hide forever-he is a cop, but I'm a CSI. I will find him. The man's no Einstein, but he's not stupid either. Surely he, too, knows that when I stepped into the fray that day, I wasn't doing it only as Calleigh's Lieutenant. I had a much more vested interest.  
  
And so I watch. And just to make things interesting, I level a glare at Hagen from time to time, to keep him on his toes.  
  
I've also seen how she looks at him, or rather, how she looked at him up until that day. There was just the faintest hint of unbridled abandon shining in her eyes when she was with him. I think he represented an escape for her, escape from stress and loneliness, escape from her less than ideal past, and escape from restraint. And she thought she could keep him a secret. But I watch, and I have become an expert at reading her signals.  
  
Eric Delko thought he had one-upped me when he slipped the topic of Calleigh and Hagen into a recent conversation. He was certainly surprised when I admitted that I already knew what he was only beginning to suspect. I might have tipped my hand, because I went on to reveal even more details, things he hadn't seen or figured out. Just as Calleigh and I pretend that we're merely colleagues, Eric and I can pretend that I'm simply watching out for my teammate.  
  
I think Calleigh knows the truth, our truth. She just won't say anything about it. Damn stubborn pride. My one consolation is that when she looks at me, it's in a totally different way than she looked at Hagen. He may have gotten admiration, but I get limitless trust, effortless comfort and undeniable yearning. I'll take those things any day.  
  
And so I watch. And wait. And offer her soft, soothing words of encouragement and reassurance; letting her know, in no uncertain terms, that I care and that I'm there for her, if she'd simply let me in.  
  
Watcher, watch her, indeed.  
  
~fin~ 


End file.
